The World Keeps Spinning // Self para
He can't even get a greeting out after he unlocks the screen to answer before his mother is speaking frantically, her accent hard to understand between sobs and deep breaths, thanks to his time in the States.
"Mum," he says slowly, swallowing the panic rising in his chest. "Mum, I need you to speak a little slower. What's happened?" He chews at his lip then, holding his breath as he waits for her to repeat herself, and when she does, it's not much easier to understand, but he picks up on it the second time through.
"Rafiki, your father just died," the woman on the other end of the line sobs. "You have to come home."
Those words seem to reach out from the speaker of the phone, charcoal tendrils curling viciously as they pull closer to his skin and wrap around his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until he's gasping for breath. He feels like he's going to vomit as his breath comes in forced gasps, struggling beneath the invisible weight on his chest.Â
"Mum," he manages, repeating the words again. "M-Mum, you can't be serious," he stutters as his fingers curl into a tight fist. For a moment, he feels as though he's going to crush his phone, he's holding on to it so tight.
It feels like every solid surface has been torn from under him, and he tries to keep from falling, but it's no use when his knees begin to buckle. His mother says something that comes as a blur, closing out their conversation with, "I'm going to text you all of the information," before she hangs up. As soon as the phone falls silent, Rafiki finds himself on the floor, phone sliding across the wood as his fists curl even tighter, slamming down against the hard surface.
"No." The word falls flat from his lips, and if it were glass, it would have shattered against the floor, sharp enough to slice the skin of anyone unsuspecting. As he curls in on himself, he can only repeat that one word, shoulders heaving as his voice grows louder and louder while his arms wrap around his knees tightly.Â
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